


The Goblin King's Seduction

by Vermilion_Sunrise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Becoming a woman, Coming of Age, Dark Love, Dark Magic, Dark Seduction, Dream Sex, Dreams, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Goblins, Growing Up, Lots of labyrinth themes, Maiden, Maiden Bride, Mating, Monsters, POV Sansa Stark, Prophecy, Sandor Clegane as Jareth (Labyrinth 1986), Sansa Stark as Sarah (Labyrinth 1986), Seduction, The power of fairytales, Wishing for womanhood, Young Sansa, black magic, bride, creature sex, fulfilling a prophecy, power, real sex, teasing with the non-consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29820870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Sunrise/pseuds/Vermilion_Sunrise
Summary: SanSan / AU / Labyrinth (1986)Ever since she could remember, Sansa had heard the Story of the Goblin King and Lord Brandon Stark. A legend as old as time, it tells the tale of an evil creature inhabiting Westeros before the arrival of the First Men and her forefather Bran the Builder. An epic story of honor, bravery, and deceit Sansa will soon discover she has her own part to play in an unfinished war for control of the island.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 56
Kudos: 89





	1. The Story of the Goblin King and Lord Brandon Stark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettybadmagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybadmagic/gifts), [Redbirdblackdog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbirdblackdog/gifts).



> This, at its core, is a coming of age story for Sansa. We'll watch her grow from a girl into a young woman, and examine several relevant themes to the background of a horror tale / fairy tale. This is written as such, a fairy tale set in medieval times. In the early chapters I expect there to be some uncomfortable moments, and that is intended as such. 
> 
> Warnings:  
> Underaged -- Sansa is underaged when she meets Sandor, though this changes by chapter 4 or 5. 
> 
> Age Difference -- Sandor is at least 8,000 years older than her. Just like we all want him to be :-p
> 
> Teasing with Non-consensual -- Sandor is a dark force and there are parts in early chapters where he lures her in. There are many different kinds of seduction and if you are sensitive you might just want to read with caution.
> 
> If you're ok with the above, then you've made it here. I've pulled heavily from different kinds of stories to bring this kind of dreaminess to the fic. If you haven't watched Labyrinth (1986) with David Bowie, then you might not pickup on the nuances of certain parts of this story. It's very heavy on film references. Fun Fact: As a kid I had this movie memorized from beginning to end. My parents should have found it creepy, but they were thrilled it taught me English :-) So I got a pass!
> 
> If you have seen the movie, then you'll be smiling right along with me. I have shamelessly used some wording and some moments in this story because they just fit. So I pose the question, dear readers, do I also put this story in the Labyrinth fandom as well?? I've gone back and forth.
> 
> Narnia is another influence that makes quick appearance. Also, we dig a bit into Slavic fairy tales sprinkling some magical concepts ala an enchanted forest etc.
> 
> That's a long winded way of saying this is something very different from what I've written before. Some of you may love it, some of you may not. It's all good ;-) But I've needed to get this out for a while and now it's bursting from the seams and I have to get it out!
> 
> \-----
> 
> With that a huge thank you to Prettybadmagic. They have helped me immensely from the very beginning by questioning my logic and pointing out the exact points that were not well developed in my mind. From brainstorming on Discord to helping me get the tough parts just right, you continue to inspire me!
> 
> Redbirdblackdog has also been a great help and deserves my thanks too! Always catching on to the little things and encouraging me. Your picsets are amazing, as is your heart.

#  Chapter 1: The Story of the Goblin King and Lord Brandon Stark

The candle on her night stand had almost burned down to the quick, but Sansa’s slender fingers flexed over the leather binding of the old heavy tome keeping it upright on her lap. It was well past her bedtime, yet the eleven year old was so engrossed in the story there was no going to sleep until she finished. 

_...the Goblin King mobilized his army of monsters into battle against the Night King. His soldiers led the charge while Lord Brandon Stark’s men flanked from the right. _

Old Nan and her lady mother had told the story of the Goblin King and Lord Brandon Stark to Sansa and her siblings many times before, but never in her wildest dreams did she think the original copy of the book existed. Sansa had only ever known it as one of many short stories contained in a collection of bard’s tales, or as a scary tale to tell around the fire in the dark of winter. It had always been just that, one story of many. Not obscure, but also not as well written about compared to other brave tales of Westerosi knights and lords. Sansa had always suspected the legend had been condensed so as to fit amongst the other, less interesting, short stories. 

Now she had the proof in her hands. 

A whole book just for her favorite story. 

From a young age Sansa was enthralled by the tale. One of duty, honor, and allegiance, her forefather Brandon the Builder had been such a noble man. Protecting Westeros from the creatures which threatened to destroy it. However it had not been the story she was looking for in the library of Winterfell this morning. She’d been there to find a lesser known tale of Duncan the Tall, when the young girl suddenly felt the urge to take another turn through the labyrinth of bookshelves in the ancient library. One turn led to another, a slight pull in one direction leading to a heavy jerk around another forgotten corner, until she came to a part of the library she never knew existed. A cold, unnatural air hit her exposed skin making it form goosebumps unbid. About to turn around to leave, the young girl felt another forceful yank, like a hand gripping her forearm, draw her back into the direction of this unknown part of the room. Hidden away, forgotten most likely, it had to be one of the oldest parts of Winterfell for sure, for it stunk of mold and the shelves were well deteriorated. 

For whatever reason, her eye had been drawn to a dusty leather bound volume hidden away at the bottom of an old rotting shelf. The book was disgusting if truth be told. A beetle was crawling over it, and it smelled like old, decomposing skin. Yet, try as she might, she could not fight the urge inside her to rescue the old book from its tomb on the shelf. Curiosity took over her better sense, as the young girl blew the thick layer of dust off the binding. There was an odd seal blazed into the leather. A sigil she had never seen before certainly peaked the young girl’s interest. It was only when the title of her favorite fairytale slowly came into view, however, that she gasped. It had been lying there this whole time, and she had never known. 

Until today.

Knowing her parents would disapprove of her taking such a gross thing into her bed, Sansa snuck the book to her room under the cover of darkness. Bare feet on cold stone, she had slipped past the sleeping guards, and taken care not to let the library door creek open as it often did. There was a sort of excitement in doing something forbidden she had never felt before. The idea of getting caught enthralled the usually prim and proper young lady as she retraced her steps through the ancient library of Winterfell. Snatching the old book up, and keeping it close to her breast, Sansa could barely contain the pounding of her heart. Once in her room she could take her time, and read the book at her leisure. There would be no distractions. 

Just her and the Goblin King -- figuratively anyway.

Sansa sighed, opening the sticky leather bound cover with a quivering hand. It was as if she had uncovered a treasure of immeasurable value, something that had not been glimpsed for centuries -- perhaps even millennia. It was within these old tattered pages of a story long forgotten that she hoped to find the truth. The young girl could recite the fairytale nearly to perfection, and yet something about it had never sat right with her. Something about this dark tale held a secret lost to time. 

You had to be astute to catch on. It required having heard the tale told by countless people in all its forms to really understand that the story didn’t add up. The account of the Goblin King and Lord Brandon Stark was as old as time about an alliance between her forefather, Brandon the Builder, and a mysterious king that preceded the first men on the continent. He was a mythical being, a monster in its purest form. It was said that the Goblin King was as strong as ten men, and so tall he could barely fit through a doorway. A dark creature, but he was by no means an unreasonable beast. When the Night King threatened the North, Lord Brandon Stark and the Goblin King joined forces. Humans and monsters clashed against white walkers and an army of the dead. An epic battle from the Age of Heroes which took place before the building of the Wall over eight thousand years ago. 

Unlike other stories that were told to them as children, this one inhabited a space between history and fiction. It depended on who you spoke to which parts were considered fact, and which parts were considered to have been embellished with time. There was no dispute regarding the battle that took place at Winterfell all those years ago. The castle still bore many of the battle scars inflicted by the Night King and his army of the dead. It was the role of the Goblin King, however, that had always intrigued and vexed the young Sansa Stark. 

_ Why did the King turn against my forefather? How could Lord Brandon truly contain such a powerful creature in the Enchanted Forest?  _

The bard’s book of short stories had certainly never answered these deeper questions in the young lady Stark's mind. Nor had it, or any oral history of the event, provided a plausible ending to the tale. Hearsay abounded. Some said it only made sense such a creature would turn on Brandon Stark. That the Goblin King was a wolf in sheep's clothing, that the very fact he wasn’t human made him ill suited to rule. Creatures from the dark could never be trusted.

Others said he was far too powerful to be allowed to live after the Battle of Winterfell. That, without the Night King to keep him in check, his army of goblins and monsters would overrun the island. That didn’t, however, explain how a mere mortal like her forefather could contain such a powerful being in the Enchanted Forest. Not by a long shot. While the ill fated Goblin King’s motivations and desires turned legend over the centuries, one theme remained the same no matter who you spoke to. He was a vile beast, and it had been a crowning achievement of Lord Brandon to be rid of him.

Hungry for answers Sansa’s eyes devoured every word on the book’s old yellowed pages. The writing was an ornate calligraphy which made it even more difficult to read. She brought the candle closer.

_ Though stronger than any man or beast, the King of the Goblins had one weakness, sliver. It was with a spear dipped in this precious metal that the Night King fought his foe.  _

Sansa traced her finger over the picture on the next page, expertly drawn and colored in an old forgotten style. The bard’s tales had never offered a picture of the beast. Instead the appearance of the creature was often left up to the imagination of the children listening. She had often wondered how the Goblin King actually looked in real life. The young girl was sure he was a beast, something so hideous that it would give her nightmares to even once look upon his face. Hunched over, green, and with monstrous fangs that could rip a man in two. Yet, she had always secretly hoped to glimpse him despite her fears. Beings of such immense power no longer existed in Westeros, to see one in your lifetime would be very special. 

She snorted in an annoying fashion for even this beautiful drawing would not settle her itching curiosity to see the creature’s face. It did, however, give her a good idea of his form. In this ancient book the Goblin King wore dark black armor made out of dragon glass tempered over hard steel, a helmet in the shape of a growling monster covered his face from her view. But, in this drawing, there was no distinguishing him from a human. He stood upright and was well proportioned with strong shoulders and a narrowed waist.

_ Perhaps you are but a dark knight who has lost your way,  _ she thought her finger tracing his form again.  _ You are certainly more comely in form than any of my father’s overweight friends. To wear such heavy armor so proudly you must be as strong as the stories say.  _

Not even great knights like Duncan the Tall were depicted in this way. The movement of the Goblin King in his massive suit of heavy armor seemed easy as he met the Night King in battle. It was expertly detailed to the point that the young girl wondered if she could even see a glimpse of his muscles near his shoulders as the pauldrons lifted from his body. Sansa stared at the picture longer than was good or appropriate, her eyes roaming what she assumed was a chiseled, masculine body.

Rubbing her eyes she turned the page.  _ Never before, and never again, was there such a ferocious battle between two beings. It was only out of pure luck or chance, that the Night King was able to knock the Goblin King’s helmet away, burning the side of his face with the sliver tip of his spear. But it was also at that moment, that the Goblin King’s sword of dragon glass drove through his opponent -- killing him instantly.  _

Even the next picture did not reveal the Goblin King’s face. Instead, the Night King lay dying on some newly fallen snow, a dark, mysterious shadow standing over him. Sansa squinted in the dim candle light trying to make out any interesting detail she could. The illustrator had made sure that the Goblin King cast an imposing shadow over his opponent. More she could not make out. The young girl shook her head, knowing it was wrong to be so interested in such a being, but somehow she was unable to stifle her attraction to him.

Sansa sighed, knowing what would happen next. She didn’t want to read it, but she hoped in her heart of hearts that this version of the story would differ from that of her wet nurse’s. 

_ For many days the Goblin King lay in Winterfell castle, barely clinging to life. The silver had poisoned him even more than it had disfigured him. His screams of agony rang through the castle, chilling even the most hardened of warriors to the bone. It was said that no man or beast had ever suffered so much as he in this moment. Yet there was nothing, magical or otherwise, that could dampen his pain.  _

She’d never heard this passage written in this way before. The words jumped off the page, invading her mind and making her feel real pity for the poor beast. It was evident from all accounts that the Goblin King was the only being powerful enough to meet the Night King in combat, and he had done so with honor and courage. Yet he lay in this very castle, and who knew, perhaps even in this very room, and writhed in pain. 

_ You poor thing,  _ she thought, oddly feeling sympathy for the sworn enemy of her forefather. 

She wondered, had this battle had happened today, if she would be charged with the care of such an important alley. Sansa was the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark afterall, and it was not uncommon for her to help Maester Luwin with such tasks. The young girl toyed with the idea of what it would be like to nurse the Goblin King back to health, and especially what it would be like afterward. Often bonds were formed in these moments, bonds of the strongest kind. 

_ No, he might be in pain but such creatures are not capable of true love.  _ She tried to remind herself, embarrassed to even allow her thoughts to wander in such a way.

Returning to the book Sansa carefully turned its brittle pages, then let out a breath of pure disgust. It seemed a book worm had been hard at work munching away at this  _ particular _ part of the story.

Even without these pages, Sansa knew Old Nan’s version by heart. In it the Goblin King would come to his senses and rise up, leading his army of monsters to attack those he had fought so hard to protect. He would betray the alliance forged between himself and her forefather, and in so doing, seal his wicked fate. That was the part that just didn’t seem right.

Fighting sleep Sansa blinked a few times.  _ It cannot be. Throughout the entire story they talk of his intelligence and his aptitude for navigating political decisions. He wanted to live in peace with the humans, he wanted to bring balance to Westeros. So why break such an alliance? And why do it when he is so ill and weakened from the battle? _

Flipping the fragile pages Sansa felt a sense of relief when she found a sheet of parchment she could finally read. 

_...it was with the help of a Red Witch that Lord Brandon Stark saved his kingdom from the Goblin King. Knowing he could not defeat this otherworldly creature in combat, he and the witch moved under cover of night. In his weakened state the Goblin King could not defend himself from their surprise attack. It was with black magic that Brandon the Builder and the Red Witch banished the dark king, and his hordes of monsters, to live out their days contained in the Enchanted Forest just outside Winterfell castle. _

Sansa stopped, her mouth going dry. She had never heard  _ this _ part of the story. Old Nan had always made up something about how great Brandon the Builder was and how he had forced the monster into the Enchanted Forest fighting him with a sword of fire. It was in that way he brought light to the darkness, and kept Westeros safe from the evil deeds of the ill fated Goblin King. But here, the introduction of a Red Witch, this banishment through the manipulation of dark magic made Sansa feel like her intuition had always been correct. This version placed her forefather in a terrible light -- one that spoke more for the idea that Lord Brandon wanted to snatch power instead of share it. Certainly something had gone awry and whatever it had been, was now in the belly of a long petrified bookworm.

_ As he was being banished into the woods, and into oblivion, the Goblin King used the last of his strength to grab Lord Stark by the collar and pull him closer. The monster’s lips neared his ear, and he said…. _

Sansa turned the page breathless, her heart thumping. “No!” she yelped, putting a hand over her mouth to silence herself -- lest she wake her handmaiden in the other room. 

The final pages had been ripped out of the book, destroyed. It was obviously on purpose, these pages had not simply detached themselves, nor had they fallen out of the binding. Whatever was contained in those pages would tell a much different tale than the one she knew. Sansa was shocked and appalled by the backstabbing unchivalrous behavior of Brandon the Builder. Taking advantage of the Goblin King in a moment of weakness, banishing him from a world he had once ruled before the First Men came to Westeros. It was unfair and unbecoming for a man of his station.

_ Was this done to keep the truth of what happened between Lord Brandon Stark and the King of the Goblins a secret for all time?  _

Frustrated, she snapped the large book shut and hid it under her bed for safe keeping. Blowing out her candle, the girl laid back on her pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin. It seemed the true story of the Goblin King would now, and forever, remain a secret lost to time. 


	2. Not a Gift for an Ordinary Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes a trade with an ancient being and thus changes the course of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very Labyrinth inspired chapter, where Sansa first meets the Goblin King. It is no doubt creepy and the reason I went to the trouble to put warnings in the first chapter ;-)
> 
> A special thanks to Redbirdblackdog for the Picset and giving this one a read through. Also, Prettybadmagic was very instrumental in poking at the parts I needed to strengthen in this chapter!!!
> 
> Thanks for reading and looking forward to your feedback!

#  Chapter 2: Not a Gift for an Ordinary Girl

It was a beautiful day to be outside the castle walls. Sansa sat on a blanket with her mother and younger brother Rickon while she soaked in the sun. The young lady Stark had always felt more Tulley than anything else. It was the way her body yearned for the light, yearned for the bounty of spring and summer. So she always accompanied her mother outside the castle walls on such getaways, even if she could not always stand the crying of her toddler brother. 

Needle point was something she often did while she and her mother hummed some of the most popular northern bard songs they could think of. It was a glorious day, and Sansa didn’t want it to end. Yet luck was not on her side. Not long after they had settled in, a man servant came running from the castle. 

“My Lady,” he said, referring to her mother and out of breath. “You’re needed at the castle. It shouldn’t be long.”

Sansa could see her mother wavering on what to do, take both her and her brother back to the Keep, or trust her to look after him in her absence. Though still a child Sansa found herself to be responsible, particularly when compared to her older brother Rob and younger sister Arya. There was no reason whatsoever her mother couldn’t trust her with Rickon alone, if even for a little bit. If she didn’t act now, her mother might make the wrong choice and cut their time in the rare northern sun short. 

“I’ll look after Rickon, Mother. You’ll be back in a moment, right?” Sansa offered, using the sweetest voice she possibly could. 

Lady Catelyn Stark mulled over her offer a bit longer, before finally nodding her head. “Don’t let him run off,” her mother smiled warmly, turning her eyes to the enchanted forest just a few yards away.

“Of course, Mother.” Sansa smiled with pride, happy to get what she wanted even if it meant keeping a closer eye on her little brother. 

As her mother began to walk toward the castle, Sansa glanced over at the enchanted forest, its trees so thick that no sunlight shone through. There were no bushes there, it was a forest floor of leaves and moss only. It was said to have stood there since before the First Men. A mysterious primary forest where no man dared steal lumber, or hunt game. It was said that this was where all the monsters and demons lived. It was said that, if a male child wandered into the woods, that he could be snatched up by the Goblin King and taken back to his castle. There the boy would be turned into a goblin. 

The very thought of the dark king who was said to live in these woods sent a shiver down Sansa’s spine. Ever since she’d read the old book from the library, the young girl had done her best to push the Goblin King from her mind. As she had begun to read literature from all over Westeros, one thing she had been taught was that every culture had a boogeyman. A creature or being that was used to frighten children or townsfolk with the hope of keeping them in line. Those who did not believe the story of her forefather was accurate, often explained that the Goblin King was just such a boogeyman.

As a little girl Sansa often remembered Old Nan’s warnings. “Don’t play too close to the Enchanted Forest, or the Goblin King will gobble you up,” or “Don’t let the Goblin King into your dreams or he’ll cast a spell on you.” He was the scapegoat for anything that happened, for any nightmare a child had or for anything that went unexplained.

_ And he no longer exists,  _ she told herself, again trying to stem the pull of her new found obsession.

Sansa continued her needle point while thinking about the many strange goings on she had heard about in that wood. Sometimes the small folk would come running toward the castle walls, pleading with the guards for help. Yelling that their child had been taken into the woods and never found. Other times she had seen grown men being carted to Maester Luwin under the cover of darkness from her bedroom window, horrible slashes across their bodies as if attacked by a hideous beast. These things were never talked about in her family, her questions merely tossed aside and explained away as an overactive imagination and nothing more.

It was hard to argue with her parents on that point, Sansa had to admit. There were no books on monsters and goblins in the castle like there were on bears and deer. This meant they had never been caught and studied. Maester Luwin had told her once, when nobody was listening, that there was no such thing as monsters -- certainly not like the ones Old Nan described in her stories. He had said that, if they had ever existed, they were long extinct. 

Looking over at Rickon todling in the grass, Sansa turned her face to the sun before returning to her needle point. She sighed, her thoughts drifting to the new dress she was learning to make, and to how wild Arya was growing up to be. 

_ She’ll never find a husband if she keeps conducting herself in such a manner,  _ Sansa thought, with some sadness. 

This morning her younger sister had flung mush on her freshly cleaned dress. Sansa had been so angry she’d yelled at her sister and stormed out, though she never really felt like Arya got punished the way she would if she’d done something like that. Life wasn’t fair, and the way her parents treated her in comparison to her sister was one of them. Sometimes she had the feeling like she could disappear forever and nobody would notice or care. They only praised her when she did “good girl” things, like sew sigils on tunics, and reciting the name of every House and Lord in Westeros. Certainly she did not feel as valued as her brothers, or even their ward Theon. Sansa couldn’t say how long she’d dwelled on this topic before she looked up again, only that when she did there was no sign of Rickon. A chill ran through her body as she put her needle point down and looked around as calmly as she could. 

_ Nothing. _

“Rickon?” she called, trying to see if he’d merely taken a nap in the long grass and was merely hiding from her view. 

_ No response. _

So she stood up and started yelling for him as loud as she could. “Rickon! Rickon!” He was only three years old, unable to protect himself against anything. 

Looking frantically she found a small ball with which he’d been playing, it was lying right at the edge of the enchanted forest. Her blood ran cold. The forest was a dangerous place, whether the Goblin King lived there or not. She faltered on what to do, to get help and waste more time, or go in after him with the hopes he had not gone too far. 

Taking a deep breath, Sansa decided to try to find him as quickly as she could. There was no reason to get her mother upset unnecessarily and do something that really could get her in trouble. 

“Rickon?” she called, taking her first tentative step into the dark forest. 

The temperature was much cooler here than in the field, the dirt damp and heady. It seemed devoid of all life, an empty forest full of tall trees dating back millennia. They towered over her and were both beautiful and terrifying. 

“Rickon! Where are you?” She called again, not knowing what direction to take, just merely following her instincts. 

Sansa ventured further and further into the forest, feeling more and more hopeless. She disliked this place, not just for its darkness but also because her hair kept getting caught in the low hanging branches of some of the trees. Breaking bits of pine needles into her perfectly kept red locks. It was only when she was about to give up and turn back around that she saw the outline of a man heading deeper into the darkness. She had to blink to make sure he wasn’t a tree trunk, the color of what he was wearing blended so well into the landscape. But no, it was a lone man carrying a child. 

“You, sir! Is that my brother? Is that Rickon?” She yelled as loud as she could. Her words stopped the man in his tracks. It struck her as odd how he didn’t turn to acknowledge her voice. Instead he held perfectly and unwaveringly still. 

Without thinking Sansa picked up her skirts and ran straight toward him, her fear of losing her brother more than the fear of what this man might do to them. The more she neared this mystery man, the stranger he seemed. For one he was not wearing anything she would consider the fashion of the day. His hair was long and dark, hanging loosely below his shoulders. It was neither tied back nor cropped short -- an older fashion to be sure. He wore riding boots up to his knee, with tight that hugged his massive legs immodestly, so that every ripple of muscle and every bulge could be seen. A tight leather vest over a long armed shirt with gloves finished his unusual style of dress. He had no weapon, not even a coin purse. 

_ What is he doing here?  _ She wondered, stopping only a few paces to his right. Sansa could only make out a slight profile, her eyes still adjusting to the dim light of the forest. 

“That’s my brother,” she told the man again, after mustering up a bit of courage. At that he did move, turning so that his grey eyes bore into her. It was only then that she saw the ruin of his face, burned almost completely on one side. She gasped, taking a step back and putting her hand over her mouth.

“Is it?” he asked in a deep, dark voice. 

“Please give him back. He was merely lost. Mother will be so worried…” Sansa trailed off, reading his expression and knowing her argumentation was going nowhere. She fought a wave of helplessness.

“I found him in  _ my wood _ .” he answered, an ice cold twinge to his words. “That means he belongs to me,” he challenged, the side of his lip curling up as if begging her to contradict him. As silence ruled, the mysterious man turned from her and began walking further into the dark recesses of the forest. Taking Rickon with him. 

She didn’t know why the words left her mouth as they did. They were foolish and stupid, certainly the worlds of a little girl who had read far too many fairytales in her day. “You’re him aren’t you?” 

Her question stopped the huge man dead in his tracks. Then he turned to her with a smirk on his face. “You’re the Goblin King,” she gasped, eyes wide in disbelief. 

The man’s answer came from a place of anger, one that made her shake in her shoes. “My name is Sandor,” he corrected her harshly, his eyes flashing in a quick moment of blind anger. She should have been frightened, but instead she stood firm. There was no other choice.

Sansa observed his face, her eye roving his imposing body. Then she felt immediately childish for having even said such a thing. This man, though scarred and disfigured, was certainly not the Goblin King. Even if they were in the Enchanted Forest, Sandor was not a creature from the dark depths of Westeros. He was a man in the process of kidnapping her brother.

  
  


“He’s frightened,” she said looking at the sleeping boy in his arms. “He needs our mother.”

With that, the man narrowed his eyes, and he put Rickon on the soft forest floor carefully, as if he were the most precious thing in the world. It took all of her bravery not to take a step back as Sandor approached her. Without the boy in his arms Sansa could get an idea of how big he really was. An open tunic with a body hugging vest exposed his muscled chest to her view. It was strong, defined, bigger than even the Great Jon. He wore a medallion around his neck, with a crest that was not of a family house of Westeros, yet familiar nonetheless. 

The mysterious man stood over her a moment, his eyes drinking her in. His very presence made the hairs on her skin prick up, made her throat run dry. Finally, he spoke. “What is your name, girl?”

She did her best to look him in the eye, though it was not easy. She needed to be strong for herself and for her brother. “My name is Sansa. Sansa Stark. My father is the Lord of this land, he would not take kindly to you walking off with his son.”

Her words made an impact on Sandor, but not the one she had hoped for. Instead of apologizing and giving her brother back, the left corner of his mouth twitched into a vicious sneer. This man had no fear for her father’s station, if anything it seemed to make him even more curious about her. He neared her quickly and Sansa didn’t know whether he would snatch her up or stop short.

“Stark you say?” It was not a question, more a statement. He looked wound up, his eyes swirling in a storm of energy and emotion she could not understand. Sandor stared at her a moment longer, as if calming his own whirlwind of emotions.

A long, uncomfortable silence passed between them before Sandor knelt down in front of her so they were nearly eye to eye. “You have so many brothers, Sansa. Why not you give me this one, and I will give you...this.” A gloved hand appeared between them and instantly a lemon cake formed in it out of nothing. 

She was surprised at first. Surprised that he had known her favorite kind of cake. They were so rare here in the North that she only got one every other year or so. Sansa’s mouth watered, her eyes glued to the delicious treat. Then her mind turned to how it had even gotten there.  _ Out of thin air? It cannot be. He must be some kind of magician. It must have been in his pocket before and I just did not see it.  _

Her eyes went back to the moist lemon cake. It was so tempting. The young girl made an attempt to touch it, to see if it was real. But Sandor closed his palm and pulled the sweet out of her reach. 

“Uhah,” he admonished her. “This is not a gift for an ordinary girl.” He paused, a dark smirk overtaking his features. “It takes a girl who will turn a blind eye and not tell her parents anything about what happened here. It takes a brave girl who will forget about her little brother.” He was testing her, making her choose between two inequitable things. After a long pause he continued, “So do you want it?” 

Sansa studied his face, unable to understand the emotions that danced across it. Part of him frightened her and yet part of him drew her in. He was a man, younger than her father but much older than she was. Sandor was no fair faced knight, or a comely lad, yet there was something about him that captivated her. Made her want to take a step toward him instead of away from him.

She eyed the lemon cake, again visible on the opened palm of his hand. Its scent was sweet, and just by looking at it she knew it was moist. But then her eye caught her sleeping brother on the ground behind them, and Sansa thought better of it. She wanted her brother to be with her, to be safe. There was no bravery in turning a blind eye, or lying to her parents. It was her duty to bring Rickon back.

“I don’t want a lemon cake,” she answered the man. “I want my brother back, please.”

At her words Sandor grinned even broader than before. She swallowed hard, for his face was hard to look upon. A hallowed cheek with some exposed bone, it was the thing of nightmares. Something you could never unsee, even if you wanted to.

“Then,” the man said, his hooked nose coming even closer to hers, “what will you trade me for him?” It was a simple question, one said without judgement, but filled with expectation.

She was perplexed by the question because she had no money or anything of value on her. “I have nothing,” she said exasperated, on the cusp of tears.

“Don’t be so sure,” Sandor grinned. He stood up, walking around her as if to evaluate her in greater detail. She felt her long hair lift from her neck as Sandor ran his fingers gently through it. She could sense the strands straightening and catching on her scalp. Usually she loved getting her hair brushed for just this reason, but when he did it it was different. Sinister. 

“Such a pretty little girl,” he continued, his gloved hand moving from her hair to the back lacing of her dress. His fingers started between her shoulder blades, where her skin was bare, then moved a couple of eyelets down before stopping. It was both an innocuous, and intimate touch. Only her mother and her handmaidens had ever pressed their fingers to this part of her back. It made Sansa suck in breath. 

“Pretty little girls become beautiful women. Did you know that?” His question was not meant to be answered, so Sansa remained painfully still.

Though he was much taller than her, Sansa swore she could feel his breath on her ear from behind as he spoke. Her mind raced with the possibilities of what she could give him for her brother. Some of her finest needlepoint perhaps? Offer to make him a suit? His clothes were woefully out of date.

“Why do you want him so badly?” she finally worked up the courage to ask. Perhaps this would lead her to the value of her brother in Sandor’s eyes.

An amused snort came from him as he rounded her body to stand in front of her. “It’s lonely where I come from,” he began. “Nobody to sing me songs, or tell me stories.” He cocked his head to the side, waiting for her answer.

Sansa swallowed, not sure what to say. Part of her felt bad for this man, because nobody deserved to live out their lives alone. She could not imagine it, and yet she sought it at the same time. Independence from her family, time away from the confines of the castle. Sansa knew she was good company, well read and able to sing every bard’s song in the land.

_ He cannot be the Goblin King,  _ she reassured herself.  _ He does not take girls to his lair, only young boys to turn into goblins.  _

“Go home, forget this child.” Sandor’s voice was dismissive, even hurt by her indecisiveness. “He is mine by a sacred right,” he turned to go toward Rickon again.

Sansa watched him take a few more steps, playing with the very idea of going home instead of staying here one moment longer. She weighed their trade, tried her best to make the most sense of it she could. Then something so strong welled up inside her that it burst out of her lips. “Take me instead. If you want a trade then I will take his place.” 

That stopped Sandor in his tracks. He was still for a long while, as if considering what to do next. Though she could not see his facial expressions, his body language was one of a victor, taking a moment to indulge in his win.

When he did turn to face her, there was a triumphant smirk on his horrific face. “You would give yourself to me so freely?” he approached her, kneeling once more so they were again uncomfortably close. 

“Yes,” she sobbed, surprised by her own selflessness and fearful of what her promise could mean to such a strange man.

He leaned in, inhaling her scent, his warm breath grazing the nape of her neck . He whispered in her ear, “Do you know what I would do to such a sweet little thing like you?” Sansa held her breath at his words for what seemed like forever before he continued. “I would gobble you up.” His cadence slowed on the last three words, making each one ring in her ears.

_ His words are the same from the story. Did he not eat children?  _ Sansa’s mind was racing as she fought to stay perfectly still. Everything her father, mother, and Old Nan had ever told her about the Goblin King racing through her head. There were so many different branches of the tale, so many different legends she couldn’t be sure which one was right. 

_ But this man could not really eat me,  _ Sansa looked at his mouth carefully.  _ His teeth are not so sharp and he has no claws. No, he’s not the Goblin King. He can’t be. _

Sansa fought the little voice inside her, determined to do whatever it took to get her brother back, even if it meant singing to this old man for the rest of her days. Sandor’s heady scent invaded her nostrils and she swore she could hear his heart beating out of his chest. Tears stained her cheeks, but she stood strong, staring at Rickon, still sleeping on the forest floor. 

“I don’t care,” she said. “It is not his fault. I was watching him. It was my fault.” 

“Very well,” Sandor breathed. Out of nowhere she saw the flash of a dagger, then a lock of her hair fall into the man’s open palm.

Within the blink of an eye, she was holding her little brother and they were all standing at the edge of the Enchanted Forest. Sansa could see Winterfell in the background, and she knew they were not far from home. 

Confused, she turned her head to Sandor. “But I thought…” she started.

A gloved finger stroked her cheek with morbid affection, “Are you so eager to be my bride, little one?” He smiled at that thought. “You have not even bled yet.”

Sansa’s cheeks turned bright red at the very thought of what he was implying. She had not considered this part, never even dreamed that she might have to lay with this man as his wife. Sansa felt her heart pump faster, and her knees shake -- the gravity of her promise only just setting in.

“Go home to your parents and tell them nothing of this encounter,” he paused, waiting to see if she understood. Sansa nodded. She had no intention of confessing her poor judgement to her parents, especially what she had promised this man in the forest. She wanted to go home.

“After you have bled, I will come to claim you,” Sandor’s eyes seared themselves into her memory. It was the kind of look that nailed you in place, forced your legs to stay planted firmly to the ground. 

He continued, “It is then, only when you are ripe, that I shall have you as my queen.” He was breathless as he spoke his final words, like a man starved. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been waiting a long time for this moment, that there was no chance in this encounter. 

_ Nothing is as it seems in the Enchanted Forest,  _ she repeated these famous words from the story of the Goblin King in her head. Unsure of what was real and what was merely fantasy.  _ This man is just a strange man. I need to tell him what he wants to hear, so I can leave this place and never see him again.  _ Sansa fought back tears for she did not want to marry him. She wanted to marry a fair young lord of her father’s court. 

Sansa stared blankly at him, repeating over and over again that this was only a dream. The reason why she was here and who she had found herself with Sandor slipping from her grasp. She could not remember. All she could focus on was the here and now.

“Such a good girl. You’ve made me very happy, Sansa,” he said. She fought not to squirm in her place. Sansa knew it was not the right moment to irritate this man. He was going to let them go, he was going to let her go back to Winterfell. 

So she stood firm as he spoke again. “And for that, I want to give you a gift.” It was the way he said it, as if it wasn’t a gift at all, which frightened her. After all that had happened this afternoon, she wanted nothing more than to leave the wood as fast as she could. Forget this had ever taken place.

“Oh no I couldn’t,” she said, turning to try to leave, but a strong hand stopped her. 

“No, I insist. For our wedding no less. A sign of my promise to you.” He had a devil’s smile, one that made you want to wither into nothing. The way he held her, Sansa felt forced to look into his eyes. They were the deepest shade of grey she’d ever seen. They were both beautiful and unusual in their color and depth. He cocked his head to the side, as if searching for something in her facial expression. It was animal-like, distinctly inhuman in its speed and motion.

Then, once he was sure he had her attention, Sandor leaned in and kissed her. It was a chaste kiss, a mere peck, but Sansa felt her lips burn and her throat grow hot. She’d never been kissed by anybody outside of her family before, and certainly not on the lips. There was a strange intimacy to it, a familiarity mixed with something deeper -- something more she had no words for.

There must have been panic on her face, for the man attempted to quiet her fear. “It’s alright, magical gifts take hold quickly.” Once the warmth had vanished, she looked at him again. “You will have the most beautiful voice, Sansa. It will be so enchanting, that even the most vile beasts will stop and listen. Perhaps even me.”

His words were confusing and said as if he had his own private joke. There was no such thing as magic, it had died in time immemorial. He was just teasing her in the most terrifying of ways. Sansa could feel his predatory stare, flinched when a feral growl emanated from his throat. The girl took a few steps backward, “I have to go now,” she stammered clenching Rickon tighter to her body. 

The man in front of her smirked. “Take care, my love. I’ll be watching you.” Sandor melted into the darkness of the wood, his baritone voice crisp in her ears.

Those were his last words to her as she bolted from the Enchanted Forest, not wanting to wait around to see if he would renege on his promise. Her legs were jelly as she fought with all her might to escape the woods. Her little brother was heavy, but safe in her arms, as the girl ran as fast as her feet could take her. Leaving the blanket in the field and everything else behind, her legs found a strength they didn’t know they had. 

Once behind the strong castle walls of Winterfell Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. Leaning against its grey stone, she took a moment to catch her breath. Sansa felt ill, unable to breathe properly through her nose she heaved huge breaths from her lungs and began to feel faint. She blinked, unsure of what was going on around her and if anybody noticed how poorly she was. Attempting to right herself and straighten her skirts, her younger brother now crying because he was awake. Putting her hands over her ears so she could just have a brief moment of silence, Sansa tried to make sense of what had just happened. 

_ We are safe here,  _ she reasoned.  _ He was just trying to scare me with some sick idea of marrying him. But he let us go. Surely he did not want to incur the wrath of my father.  _ Sansa thanked the Old Gods for allowing them safe passage, and for making sure they could escape. 

_ No matter what he says no man or beast has breached the walls of Winterfell Castle in eight thousand years. Even if he were the Goblin King, he will surely fail.  _


	3. The Truth in All Its Forms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa learns more about the past history of her family than she bargains for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I want to thank everybody who has been enjoying this fic. We move on to the next scene. I'm so happy you have been enjoying this fic, it's been something I've wanted to write for a while. 
> 
> Thanks again to PrettyBadMagic and Redbirdblackdog for reading this fic and giving some excellent feedback. Sometimes it takes a village and I really appreciate being able to refine ideas with them!

# 

#  Chapter 3: The Truth in All Its Forms

Spring turned into summer. Then summer turned into fall, and back to summer again. In that time Sansa had forgotten all about her clandestine encounter in the Enchanted Forest. The man named Sandor, who had almost made off with her younger brother, was nothing more than a cautionary tale. A memory of her poor judgement and a reminder of her need to take more responsibility for those around her. 

That didn’t mean, of course, she had not reexamined the tale of the Goblin King in great detail. Her investigations had taken her to the point of asking her father about the story, wondering if he knew a different version from the others. It was apparent to her that there were several accounts out there, but strangely the book from Winterfell’s library was the only one different from the rest. If there had been anybody in the family that could give her answers, it would be her lord father. He knew the Stark history backward and forward, surely he would be able to shed some light on the discrepancies she had uncovered. Eddard Stark had merely brushed off her inquiries, even becoming irritated by her seemingly incessant questions to the point that her mother had to step in. 

“There’s no such thing as the Goblin King, Sansa! He’s a tale made up to scare northern children, and nothing more.” Her mother had said, the look passing between her parents was one of both exhasiration and something more. “You’re becoming a young woman now, it’s time to put these silly fairy tales behind you.”

Her lady mother was right of course, though still a bit too tall and not yet filled out to her liking, Sansa had begun to lose her childlike features in favor of becoming a young woman. Now Septa Mordane talked more about choosing a proper husband than becoming a lady. She had only to bleed, and that would surely happen soon. Sansa had her whole life in front of her, a new chapter was about to begin, and yet, she could not shake this feeling for the desire to set things right by the story. To put together the pieces of the puzzle as she saw them in her head.

There were times though, when she had the unshakable feeling she was being observed. During the day it was often when she sang under the tutelage of her music teacher, or even to herself on the battlements of the castle. It was like she could feel Sandor’s breath on her ear, feel his heat close to her body. But it couldn’t be. He had been a man in the woods, using the tale of the Goblin King to frighten her. 

Nothing more.

Yet, ever since that fateful day, there were moments in the black of night when she would wake to turn in her bed and feel watched. There was nobody else in her small room, Sansa knew it and yet, her skin would prick up all the same. Often she would ask who was there, demanding they show themselves. Nothing would appear. The wind would whisper oddly through the shutters but nothing more. She would be scared, if only for a moment, her eyes would adjust to the light and search the room just to be sure. She was always alone with the shadows, reprimanding herself for being a scared little girl, not the cultured young lady her mother was teaching her to be. 

It was only the dark, there were no such things as monsters like Old Nan spoke of in her stories. 

But that sentiment was about to change. 

It was on the evening of her thirteenth birthday that it happened. The day had been marvelous, a warm sun on a bright summer day. Her parents had prepared a small feast, and she had invited lords and ladies from her father’s territories. Games of hide and seek had been played. Even a secret game behind the stables in which she was blindfolded and made to kiss three boys and three girls, then name them only by that. They had so much fun, giggling and laughing. Yet Sansa began to understand that one day, perhaps one of these young lords would become her husband. 

Yes, this year’s birthday was distinctly different from the others in so many ways. A goodbye to her childhood, and a firm step into the unknown. Something she had always wanted, but feared at the same time.

It was late when she finally did make it to her rooms. Sansa shewed her handmaiden away in favor of undressing herself. She had two mirrors in her room, one on her vanity and the other an oval stand alone mirror, one she used to make sure her skirts fell properly. Now, she observed her naked body, through different eyes. Her breasts were barely there, small bulbs of sensitivity-- a far cry from the bosom of an adult. Her hips were still boxy, and her legs skinny. She was tall, taller than her mother even, but with none of the things that drew a man’s eye. In the last year she had become keenly aware of what men observed in other women. Their bums, their breasts, their bare arms-- Sansa tugged at her long red hair uncomfortable with what she saw. 

Her thoughts turned again to the little game she and the other young lords and ladies had played out of the eyes of their parents. It had awakened something inside her -- made something burn within her that she didn’t understand. And no matter what, none of them had been like her first kiss. They had all lacked the heat of it, the gravity of it. Sighing, she quickly pulled her nightgown over her head and turned to her bed. 

She opened the sheets of her neatly made bed and found a small gift box wrapped in the most beautiful paper she had ever seen.  _ Now who would give me such a gift?  _ She wondered sitting on her bed and holding the small package in her hand.  _ A secret admirer perhaps?  _

A blush crept through her cheeks at the very idea of a boy having put it there. She thought back through the young lordlings, and even some of the younger stable hands who often stopped their work to wave a she passed. The very thought that somebody had been bold enough to sneak into her room, and put such a thing in her bed excited her -- made her heart burn red flame while her mind raced.

_ Well perhaps there’s a clue inside,  _ she smiled and carefully pulled the strings and unwrapped the box carefully. Then she opened it.

“A lemon cake,” she said, a huge smile on her face. It was surely a young lordling then, lemons were so rare and a small bite sized morsel like she had there was very expensive.

Sansa squeezed the piece of cake between her fingers, enjoying it’s scent and how moist it was. It seemed fresh, almost warm as if it were just out of the oven. Then she raised the cake to her lips and savoried it’s delicious sour sweetness. It was exquisite, the absolutely best one she had ever had. Licking her fingers ensuring every last crumb was accounted for, Sansa found herself unable to shake a sudden sleepiness. Trying to put her feet in the bed, she realized she was only able to put her head on her pillow as her eyes closed, slowly dimming her room from view. 

_ She was running in a forest but could not say where she was going. The foliage was thick making it dark despite the fact that she knew it was day time. As she ran further, it struck Sansa as odd that she was unfamiliar with this place yet felt she knew the way. Through the trees and the thickets she ran, neither feeling tired or hungry. She had boundless energy as she jumped over the small streams and dodged low hanging tree branches still catching some leaves in her hair. _

_ Suddenly she came to a sort of clearing, and there, at its center, she saw a magnificent castle. It had nearly been reclaimed by the undergrowth, its once grand outside covered with moss and gnarly roots. Sansa was sure it had been very beautiful long ago, for the windows were huge and grand, even if the glass had all but been destroyed.  _

_ Curious she tiptoed to the entrance, found the wooden door, and opened it. If the outside was beautiful, then the inside was even more so. It was a magical place, one full of mystery. In the entryway of the castle there was a double marble staircase. Though covered in dust and dirt, she could still make out incredible white and grey coloring. She felt a pull, and it led her up the stairs. Sansa looked around for animals but found no signs of life. It was a lifeless ruin. Whoever had once lived here was long gone, only bizarre portraits hung haphazardly on the walls.  _

_ She followed the staircase to the top, then went down the long hallway as if guided by an invisible force. There were doors on either end, and Sansa swore there must have been a hundred as she continued to walk passing rusting suits of armor and long forgotten bobbles strewn across the dusty floor. At the end of the hall there was a grand door, it must have been ten or twelve feet tall, with beautiful paintings and inlay. Pushing the heavy doors open Sansa gasped at what she saw inside.  _

_ It was a throne room, built to accommodate several hundred. However inside its deteriorating walls there were no people, only the statues of monsters and beasts, the likes of which she had never seen before. Realizing they would not hurt her, Sansa walked around each unique piece and marveled at the detail of the masons’ work. They had teeth and eyes, every wrinkle of their skin and every boil on their arms was beautifully created. She had never seen anything so lifelike at Winterfell, nor anywhere else.  _

_ Slowly she made her way to the dias where two golden thrones stood. What was interesting was they had no dust on them at all, if anything they were pristine. Brand new. They were so beautiful and grand, that Sansa couldn’t help but sit on a velvet cushioned seat, looking out at the statues of monsters and beasts before her. It was a funny court, but a big one. Bigger than anything in King’s Landing to be sure. _

_ She had not been there more than a couple of breaths before she heard a man’s voice from behind her, “The throne suits you, my queen.” _

_ Gasping Sansa jumped off the chair and looked behind it. There she saw him, exactly as she had seen him before in the Enchanted Forest. Sandor stood tall, his dark hair long, his glove covered hands crossed over his chest. He wore a pleased grin on his face.  _

_ “Where am I?” she asked, trying hard not to show him her fear and genuine surprise.  _

_ “You’re in my castle,” he answered simply, his grey eyes dancing in delight. “Do you like it?” _

_ “I..”she started. _

_ Sandor cut her off, “Don’t lie to me, girl.” There was a bitterness to his voice as he emerged from the shadows, bigger and meaner looking than ever. “After eight thousand years, it’s a wonder anything is standing.”  _

_ ‘Eight thousand years…’ she repeated his words in her mind, her eyes never leaving his. Whatever she had been unsure of before, was clear as day now. The huge man who stood before her in this abandoned castle was none other than the Goblin King from her stories. The day of Rickon’s kidnapping came rushing back to her. The reason he wanted to steal her younger brother, her trade with him in the depths of the forest. He had tricked her, and she had allowed him to.  _

_ Her heart picked up as her panic increased. Sansa tried to remember the things Old Nan had told her and her siblings when they were young. ‘Don’t enter into a trade with him,’ was something her old wet nurse had always stressed. That and, ‘The Goblin King is a shapeshifter, who will never come to you in his true form. He is a trickster and a seducer.’ Sansa took a step backward and nearly fainted.  _

_ ‘By the gods I’ve promised to marry him,’ she realized. ‘I’ve given myself to this beast. I’ve damned myself to never fall in love.’ Yet for as upset and fearful as she wanted to feel, Sansa could not bring herself to feel helpless. She held the Goblin King in her eyes and focused on how his long hair framed his unusual face. Then she dared to admit to herself, that he was alluring in a way human men were not. There was something about him that did not repulse her, but drew her to him. _

_ He took a step forward, “It took me so long to reach you. Your will is strong. But here you are, right where you belong.” _

_ “I don’t understand…” she stammered. _

_ A devil's smirk came across his face as he approached her, offering his arm. “You are so pure of heart, Sansa. You gave yourself to me willingly, and in so doing, released me from a terrible curse. I am in your debt.” _

_ “A curse?” she asked, never having heard this part of the story or at least understanding it as such. In her book and in all the oral tales she had ever heard, there was no curse placed upon him. The Goblin King was merely contained within the confines of the forest, his home.  _

_ No matter how hard she tried, Sansa could not take her eyes off of him. His face was burned on the side where he had taken the Night King’s spear, the other was that of a man’s. As she observed him again, through a young woman’s eyes, he was not unattractive. Strong facial features surrounded a hooked nose. Though his dress was unusual, it suited him. An unlaced tunic was kept tight to his body by a black leather vest. Gloves covered his hands. It was a powerful body, with arms better than any man she knew and legs thick as tree trunks. His tight pants left nothing to the imagination, every muscle was visible. Even his manhood bulged from between his thighs in a way that made her both blush and stare.  _

_ Unable to fight his enchanting aura, she took his arm. Sandor walked her through the huge throne room, weaving past the multitude of statues there. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the story. You humans call it, The Story of the Goblin King and Lord Brandon Stark, I believe.” He said her forefather’s name with a disdain that had not dwindled with the ages. It seemed as fresh in its hateful intensity as if their quarrel had happened only yesterday. _

_ “I know it,” she breathed while he walked her through a once gorgeous solar and out into an overgrown garden. Here there were statues as well, some broken into bits, others missing hands or noses. “But I know of no curse, only a banishment into the Enchanted Forest.” _

_ At that Sandor cackled, throwing his head back as his laughter rang through the relative quiet of the garden. There was no joy in this sound, only a clear need for vengeance. “Then you must be told the truth,” he proffered. _

_ Under a beautiful heart tree, which must have been much older than the great heart tree of Winterfell he stopped, taking both her tiny hands in his. “You want to know the truth, don’t you?” _

_ “Yes,” she said, unsure what he was going to tell her, and what it was going to mean.  _

_ “Do you trust me?” He asked, his deep grey eyes boring into her. A distant voice told her no, but it was so far away it might have been the sound of a bird instead. Every fiber of her being was drawn to him, to the point that she was helpless to defy him.  _

_ “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes never wavering from his. _

_ The Goblin King smirked, “Then kiss me.”  _

_ She rolled up on the tips of her toes to reach Sandor’s captivating mouth. Before she knew what she was doing, her lips were on his. Sansa’s fingers threaded themselves into his hair, her body pressed flush against his. She closed her eyes. The Goblin King’s scent filled her nostrils, making her feel light on her feet. The warmth of his mouth invaded her own, an unusually dexterous tongue dipping deep inside of her. Sansa couldn’t help but think of how different his kiss was from those of the young lordlings earlier that afternoon. Theirs were sweet, tentative, and, for as much as they would argue otherwise, unpracticed. Sandor’s kiss was willful, demanding as if he sought to possess every sense she had. She felt him dip her body toward the ground, so her fingers dragged down his chest in response.  _

_ When she opened her eyes, he was gone. _

_ The young girl was again in a forest, but this time a more familiar part. Sansa was at the treeline of the Enchanted Forest, a smaller, older version of Winterfell castle in the distance. Her eyes landed on two men in the darkness. Looking around Sansa tried to get her bearings. Something was off, the field between the castle and the forest smaller, the scale of her home tinier. There was no way to know what was going on, but a little voice inside her told her to approach the two men at the edge of the forest. She neared the men and could see a Red Witch in the field, her hands outstretched the way one would when casting a spell.  _

_ Sansa looked again, and one of the men at the forest’s edge was on the ground the other standing over him triumphantly. “Hello?” She called out, waving a hand in the moonlight.  _

_ They neither heard nor responded to her movement.  _

_ Walking closer and closer Sansa realized they could not see her, it was as if she were a ghost. ‘Am I in a dream?’ she asked herself for the second time that night.  _

_ The two men were arguing, and it was then Sansa realized that the bloody, nearly dead man on the floor of the Enchanted forest was Sandor. His face was a twisted mess, fresh scars still bleeding down his cheeks and forehead. It was hard to look at, and yet Sansa wondered if it was because of the scars themselves, or because of the obvious pain he was in.  _

_ ‘He suffered so much,’ Sansa had always thought that, now she could see it for herself. _

_ Sansa did not have to look hard to distinguish who the other man at the edge of the forest was. She had seen many paintings of Lord Brandon the Builder, and they were all spot on. He held a smug gaze, but had no weapon in his hand. _

_ Sandor was struggling to prop himself up on one elbow, his shirtless form battered and bloody. Her ancestor wore a stern expression, but when he leaned over to gloat the Goblin King grabbed his large collar, pulling Brandon Stark off balance and even closer to his face. She did not know if she was in a dream or a memory, only that whatever passed between these two men had been hidden from everybody, until now.  _

_ Sansa picked up her skirts and ran toward the two men, eager to overhear their conversation. _

_ “You will pay for using such treacherous magic, Brandon Stark,” Sandor’s voice had not changed in the least. It was still deep and all encompassing even though he was in immense pain. “There is no dark magic without sacrifice,” the Goblin King’s breathing was labored as he continued to hold the struggling man so he could whisper in his ear.  _

_ “Your witch denies my soldiers life by freezing them as statues in time. So I shall take life from you. Any man or boy who enters my wood will become my property -- to turn into goblins as I see fit. You shall not plunder the Enchanted Forest, it shall plunder you.” Sandor’s words landed with an ominous weight, like a punch to the gut. _

_ Sansa’s eyes were wide with surprise, and yet she had grown up her whole life knowing that few made it out of the Enchanted Forest alive. That they were either found dead or had merely vanished into thin air. _

_ Brandon Stark reared back his fist but found his arm trapped in space, the scowl on Sandor’s face only underscoring that he was responsible. He might be gravely ill, but he was not powerless.  _

_ “Listen to me!” Sandor growled in a way that made Sansa quiver. “When your bones have long turned to dust in your grave, a girl will be born to the Starks. She will be pure of heart, brave, a sweet virgin.” There was delight in Sandor’s voice as he watched the light in Lord Brandon’s eyes turn from anger to defeat. _

_ “You lie,” Brandon spat. “You will be locked in this forest forever. There’s no chance of escape.” Even Sansa could detect the slight fear in Brandon’s voice, as if he wasn’t fully sure if what he said was true.  _

_ The Goblin King laughed, blood splattering Brandon’s face. “Forever is not long at all.” _

_ Her forefather struggled in Sandor’s grip, not wanting to hear his words, but not able to best the King of the Goblins either. “I will claim this girl. Join our houses,” Sandor’s voice was even, calm, calculating. “ She will love me in all my forms, especially my true one. The one you cannot lay eyes on. The one you fear so much you would turn to treachery in a vain attempt to destroy me. Your progeny will be my progeny, and our progeny will rule Westeros. That is the price of your dark magic.”  _

_ It was with those final words that Sandor released Brandon Stark from his grasp. No sooner had her forefather stumbled back into the field than the misty color of a magical enchantment came into view. It encircled the Enchanted Forest, locking the Goblin King and his minions away for all time.  _

Gasping for air, Sansa sat up in her bed. Her heart was beating out of her chest, her mind was racing with what she had seen. 

“What have I done?” she asked herself, filling her lungs with air. 

Taking a moment to calm down, Sansa considered the scene she had just witnessed. The introduction of the Red Witch had always pointed to treachery on the part of her forefather.  _ Could he be such a beast that Brandon the Builder used him to defeat a formidable foe, then abandoned him in his hour of need? _

_ Was it just a dream?  _ Sansa couldn’t be certain. Nothing was what it seemed anymore. Then she touched her lips and acknowledged that the pressure of his kiss still lingered there. The sultry taste of his tongue was still fresh on her taste buds. Sansa glanced at her pillow and saw a leaf from an old heart tree, the one at the ruined castle. She gasped, her hand over her mouth.

“He will come for me,” she whispered. “He’s tasted me and now, nothing will stop him.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked what you read, here are some other interesting fics that go in similar-ish direction...in different ways. :-)
> 
> Feral alpha/omega SanSan -- Prettybadmagic's "Hard Times at Clegane Ranch" -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859525/chapters/68210237
> 
> Sansa and the Night King -- Redbirdblackdog's "The Night's Bride" -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203035/chapters/66446479
> 
> Sansa with demon Sandor -- Maroucia's "The Summoning" --https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711486/chapters/39195253


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